In the Night
by spinningvortex
Summary: My naturally subdued personality meshed with his more energetic one, and as the months passed, the dynamic between us made me feel perhaps that we had always known each other. So his sudden closeness, the warm hand and hot breath tickling my back confused me. CastielXLysander, please R&R
1. Chapter 1

My eyes shot open and met only the darkness of my room. It took a moment for me to register what had jolted me from my slumber. I paused, making an effort to still my breath so as to hear better, a queer prickling sensation being to run down the back of my neck. And then I remembered: a loud _thump _echoed down the hall, reminiscent of the one that had first awakened me. I felt the blood surging in my ears as adrenaline began to sing in my veins, but I lay frozen in my bed, analyzing what was happening and considering what plausible actions to take. The thumps seemed to be coming from the front of the apartment I shared with my brother, Leigh, meaning that whoever-or _whatever-_ was making the sound would be in the kitchen. This made sense, for our fire escape led to the large window we had there, overlooking the street. I sat up slowly, begging my mattress not to squeak and alert whatever was out there of my presence. If someone was breaking into my home, I needed to have surprise on my side.

I had crossed my bare hardwood floor and was nearing my bedroom door when I heard another sound; a human voice. I couldn't make sense of what they were saying, but I could recognize the hostile edge to it. I swallowed thickly, my saliva turning gluey and stale in my mouth as panic blossomed and settled in my middle. A thought passed through my mind. _Leigh is at Rosa's_. _I'm alone._

As quietly as I could, I made my way out into the small hallway that lead from our sleeping quarters to the main floor space of our apartment. The satiny material of my night shirt rustled as I moved, and I was thankful I had elected to trade in the matching pants for the quieter boxer briefs I had on. As I poked my head through the door way, I heard again the angry mutterings of the intruder, and what sounded momentarily like the rip of old fabric. I sunk down, bending my knees slightly and leaning forward with my upper body, placing my body weight on my toes. As I advanced upon the entry way, I noticed my umbrella nestled within our ornate stand. Feeling momentarily sheepish, I pulled it silently from the decorated pottery and held it at my side like a sword. I couldn't afford to be picky however, no matter how silly I might appear; I'd rather look foolish than have no weapon on me at all.

The clinking of glass drew my attention back to the matter at hand, and I began my advance once again. I was drawing nearer now, and my pulse was beginning to pick out an even faster staccato rhythm in my ears. I had reached the kitchen, for once grateful for the island and the natural barricade it presented me against the trespasser.

I could make out a dark shape silhouetted against our large window, which stood open behind it. I mentally cursed myself, for I knew that I was to blame for this intrusion. I had forgotten to lock the window when I had gone out to our small fire escape herb garden earlier.

I looked back to the figure, and was struck momentarily by the familiar shape as it swayed slightly. I small glinting hope took hold of me and, feeling braver than of late, I stood up. I saw the figure freeze, as if sensing my presence. With a quick reach of my hand, I flicked the light switch on, and was met with-

"Oooow, goddamnit, turn th'fuckin' light out!" It was Castiel, shielding his face with hands that seemed unusually ill fitting for his body, as if they had recently been attached and he was still learning which nerve controlled what. His hair was disheveled; tufts of it were sticking up in the back, and the tresses near his flushed and slightly sweaty face were plastered haphazardly. I noted that he was also slurring his words, which puzzled me until he shuffled a half step closer to where I was standing, and I caught the smell of alcohol on his breath.

"Castiel," I began. It took a moment for me to sort through what I wanted to say, my heart still racing slightly. He blinked owlishly at me, his eyes now more accustomed to the bright lights of my kitchen. I noticed his pupils were hugely dilated, making his already dark grey eyes seem almost black. A thrill ran through me that had nothing to do with my recent adrenaline rush, and I had to swallow before continuing.

"Castiel, it's almost three o'clock in the morning," I began again, not letting my dissipating fear colour my voice with irritation.

I knew Castiel well, and I could guess why he was drunk this late on a school night. The recent return and simultaneous shit show that was Deborah had up heaved his life, opening old wounds and creating new ones. I frowned, remembering his face when he had heard Deborah and Lynn's exchange over the intercom. The pain of a heart rebroken, the shame in knowing how he had treated Lynn. The anger that had then built up behind his eyes, an impassive mask of fury that almost made me pity Deborah when he finally confronted her. Almost.

And I remembered that night, when I had gone over to his house to make sure he had eaten. I had been expecting perhaps a tirade from him, or at least some other loud outburst. But when he opened the door, his face was stony, and he said very little in the time I was there, often staring into space rather than meet my gaze. That had been two days ago, and I hadn't seen him since. His absences from school were nothing new, so I was giving him his space to work himself out before I ventured over again. But now he was here in my kitchen, in the middle of the night, and from the looks of it, drunk beyond anything I had ever seen from him. In all my time knowing Castiel, I don't recall ever having seen such an aloof grin cross his face. I would be lying to myself if I said it didn't unsettle me. And yet something in his dark, half lidded gaze stirred something in me. He seemed feral; dangerous, and I silently cursed my masochistic side when I felt heat beginning to pool in my belly.

"Why are you here?" I finally asked him, taking a few steps toward him. He gave me a goofy grin, shrugging his shoulders and turning back to what I guessed had been his original goal; our small but relatively untapped liquor cabinet. As I watched him bumbling through our bottles of rum and sake, finally settling on a sizable bottle of vodka, I noticed a rather large hole in his old jeans, spanning from the bottom of his left back pocket and stretching to just above his knee. It was when he moved, or rather stumbled, that I noticed he wasn't wearing underwear. The pale flesh of his lower butt cheek flashed momentarily, and I quickly looked away, more embarrassed for his sure to be wounded pride when he sobered up again than by what I had seen. After all, we had both seen the other in various states of undress before.

I noticed then the small scrap of material hanging from a cupboard knob, and pieced together what had happened. I put the images together with the sounds I had heard, the annoyed grumbling and then the rip of material. I chuckled to myself, imaging how Castiel's face must have looked when he had first gotten snagged.

"You have a hole in your pants," I said, chuckling still as I stepped towards him and took the bottle out of his hands. He gave me a slightly annoyed glance, his lips puckering in frustration at having been denied something he wanted. I sighed, knowing that reasoning with him was going to be a challenge.

"Castiel, it's very late, and you're a mess." He stared at me blankly now, eyes unfocused, but drawn to the movement of my lips. I felt my face heating up again with his stare, and I took a settling breath before I tried again.

"You're going to have a glass of water," I said, moving past him to grab a cup. "And then you're going to lie down on the couch." I moved to the faucet, intending to fill his cup with cool water. But a wandering hand behind me caused me to freeze. It brushed along my side, moving slowly upward until it crossed over my shoulder blades where it paused. And then I felt Castiel's head leaning into my back, felt his hot breath through my thin nightshirt. My heart beat faster at the contact; Castiel was never one to be overly affectionate, and his forward touches both unnerved and excited me.

When Castiel and I had first begun to hang out, shortly after Deborah had broken his heart for the first time, I had invited him out to a small bar where some friends of mine were playing. He accepted the invitation begrudgingly, surely weighing our new formed friendship against the more desirable option of staying shut up in his house alone. In the end, he had agreed to come along with the condition that he could leave if "the music sucked ass". Fortunately, he had found their music agreeable, and by the end of their set he followed me to the back to meet them. It was there that he had discovered my orientation; an ex of mine, Bryce, who I was still chummy with had also shown up, and he had lazily snaked his arm across my shoulders when he asked if Castiel was my new guy. After numerous negations on my part, he had said it was a shame, because the redhead was pretty hot. Castiel had watched the exchange silently, a quirked brow and a perhaps considering look in his eyes as his gaze moved from me to Bryce. A crooked grin had then spread across his face, as he sarcastically told me how much I had injured his feelings with my prompt denial of a romantic relationship. I laughed with him, but silently I had to agree with Bryce.

I had known shortly after meeting Castiel that he was straight, probably as straight as they could come. But this hadn't bothered me; I understood that what we had would always be friendship, and Castiel seemed not to care the least bit anyway that I was gay. He never once after seemed discomforted by my homosexuality as some straight men were, and he never changed the way he treated me, nor the way we interacted. Our relationship was easy because of this, and we had soon after settled into our patterns. My naturally subdued personality meshed with his more energetic one, and as the months passed, the dynamic between us made me feel perhaps that we had always known each other.

So his sudden closeness, the warm hand and hot breath tickling my back confused me.


	2. Chapter 2

"Castiel?" He was flush against me now, his slightly shorter frame angling itself into the curvature of my spine. I felt his nose cross my neck, sending shivers down my spine. But I was frozen, waist pressing into the counter, cold water now overflowing the glass and spilling over my hand. He grumbled something behind me, voice muffled by my shirt.

"What was that?"

"I fucked up, Lysander." His voice cracked slightly, and I felt dampness beginning to permeate the places where he had buried his face into my back. I sighed, turning the faucet tap off, leaving the glass in the sink until he was ready for it. I turned to face him, and it wasn't a pretty sight. Tears lay unshed in his eyes, but I could see the shiny trails left on his face that hadn't been absorbed into my shirt. His usually stoic face had the appearance of breaking glass, eyebrows scrunching up in pain, lower lip bitten between teeth. I saw blood well in the split skin there, and I watched transfixed as his tongue came out to prod at the small wound he had inflicted upon himself. Then his shiny eyes moved to mine, and I felt a warmth stirring again within me, a need to hold this broken creature until his parts meshed themselves back together again.

"Castiel," I murmured softly, my hesitant and shaky hands slowly moving around his arms, pulling him into our first embrace. He let out a small choking sob, his head now nestled beneath my chin. I rubbed small soothing circles across his back, hoping that he would begin to sober up soon. I cringed, thinking of the promised hangover he would have tomorrow, and his likely embarrassment at his emotional dam breaking like this.

Silently, I maneuvered us to the couch, where he cuddled up next to me, his arms now going around my shoulders. His legs made their way across my own lap, until he was half-sitting on me. His breathing had evened out a little by now, but the tears still fell silently, leaving dark stains against my shirt. We sat like that for a few minutes, me still rubbing circles across his back, murmuring nonsensical but hopefully soothing sounds to him. But then I became aware of an entirely new sensation, and I had the sinking feeling that I was soon to be in trouble.

Castiel had shifted himself closer to me yet again, and now I could feel the soft skin of his butt through the rip in his jeans against my own bared leg, dangerously close to my crotch. I stilled, the heat from his body seeping into my own, pooling and coiling low in my belly. Something close to panic began entering me again, worried that my body would reveal how much it appreciated his closeness. Mind racing, I tried to work out how I could remove Castiel from my person without offending him, or worse, undoing the moments I had just spent trying to calm him down. I looked at the small green lights of the oven clock: 3:27. Just perfect.

"Castiel, I need to get to bed," I said, hoping he wouldn't notice the husky quality my voice had taken on. I felt his arms tightening around me possessively, a move which ground his bared flesh against my lap. I bit back a groan; my body was definitely beginning to respond at this point. I just hoped he wouldn't notice.

"Castiel…" I tried again, working out how I could escape from his grasp with my dignity intact. He wiggled closer yet again, and this time I couldn't stifle my small groan of pleasure. His heated skin was on my crotch now, and I could feel its soft texture through the thin cotton of my underwear. My heart was racing, and I tried desperately to detach his arms from around my shoulders. He struggled for a minute before freezing, and I immediately knew why. My cock was pressing up against him, hard and eager. I cursed my teenage hormones then, for getting so worked up over so little stimulation.

"Lysander…?" Castiel's voice was low, the rumble of it traveling to my hardened member like lighting to a tree. I shuddered at the sensation, wishing for the first time that my body wasn't so sensitive. I looked at him, hoping my expression didn't mirror the heated tingling sensations I was experiencing elsewhere.

"I need to sleep. Would you _please_," I closed my eyes, inhaling quickly through my nose. His eyes were dark still, and they held something I had never seen from him before. Perhaps, if I dared to hope, longing? Desire? Mentally I shook myself, knowing I was either projecting or misinterpreting his drunken expression for more than it was.

"Please remove yourself from myself, so that I could actually _try _and get some sleep in. Some people have school tomorrow." I opened my eyes again, and found him staring back into them. This time I was almost sure there was desire hidden within the dark orbs boring into me.

"I always liked your eyes," he mumbled softly. My heart beat quickened, but I was struck by his gaze, and found myself drawn to it like a magnet.

Seconds passed, and then slowly, torturously so, Castiel inched his lips towards mine. They touched together gently, his uncertain and curious, and me restraining myself from doing something that would only lead to further confusion between the two of us. _He's drunk he's drunk_, I thought, playing the mantra over in my head, clinging to it desperately when Castiel leaned in more, and licked my bottom lip questioningly. I lurched back out of his reach, trying to form a coherent thought. He looked back at me, confusion and pain on his face.

"Did I do it wrong?" He asked miserably, his face flushed, his eyes sliding down to my lips again. I licked them self consciously, and watched his eyes follow the movement of my pink appendage.

I snorted then, the sound making his eyes jump back to mine.

"It was…fine," I said. Bit of an understatement, but I wasn't going to encourage him. Not with his present state. I small grin made its way onto his face. But I was confused.

"I thought you were into girls," I said, thinking back to Deborah and her scandalous body.

The smirk disappeared from his face, and he grimaced slightly before turning his head away from me.

"I am," he said, though the uncertainty of his words was obvious. "I dunno, lately…Lately, I've been…feeling…things." He was blushing again, starting to fidget in my lap. But now my curiosity was piqued; what did he mean by that?

"What sorts of things?" I said, trying to keep my still prevailing need in check.

"Well…I thought I was straight," he began, looking down into his lap. I noticed then the slight bulge in his jeans, and my own dick pulsed in response. "I think I am, anyway. Its just I find myself attracted to some guys, as well. Maybe I'm bisexual?" He looked to me, and I felt for the guy. It had to be confusing, feeling an attraction to both sexes, trying to fulfill the human need to categorize and label those feelings. I myself had known from a youngish age my own orientation, but I knew that others weren't as fortunate as me, often spending messy and confusing adolescent years trying to peg down something into safe definition. But, if Castiel _was _bisexual, did I perhaps stand a chance with him?

The obvious answer would be yes, seeing as he was currently cuddling up to my hard on, but that was circumstantial. He was intoxicated, and I knew from personal experience the ways in which normally unappealing things gained a new sheen under alcohol's influence. A small fire of hope began to burn within me when I mulled the prospect of him and I- of _Castiel_ and myself, becoming something of a couple. But that discussion would have to be saved for a later time, ideally one where Castiel wasn't inebriated and hurting. I took a steadying breath, and pushed him over to the vacant side of the couch beside me. He grunted in annoyance, but I stopped him with a look I hoped held more authority and control than I felt.

"Drink that glass of water," I said, gesturing to the kitchen. "And try to sleep." When he went to protest, I held up a hand.

"I know right now you think you want this…wherever it was headed…" I said, shyly gazing at the slightly pitched tent still present in my lap. I felt Castiel's heated gaze follow mine, and I blushed, shifting in an attempt to dispel my erection. When I looked up at him again, he had a hungry look about him. "Castiel, I'll be honest with you," I continued, his eyes sliding up my body until he met me eye to eye. I shivered, almost feeling his searing gaze upon my flesh. "I think it's pretty obvious that I'm attracted to the idea of becoming physical with you. But you have to understand, I don't feel comfortable acting upon these feelings until you're sober. I feel like I'd be taking advantage." Castiel snorted, his eyes rolling slightly at the idea.

"Always the fucking gentleman," he said as he stood up, making his way to the sink to retrieve his glass. I sighed with relief, taking the opportunity to rise and begin walking to my bedroom. I paused when I heard shuffling footsteps behind me. _Son of a bitch._

"Castiel, you're sleeping on the couch." I turned to face him, arms crossing in front of me. He looked at me, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.

"Look, I know what you said, and I'll respect your wishes. As stupid as they sound," he grumbled. "But…and if your repeat this to ANYONE there will be hell to pay-" I rolled my eyes at his empty threat. "I'm serious, Lysander! I just…don't want to sleep by myself."

I froze at his words, considering them. I weighed the consequences of him and I sharing a bed, looking again at the clock on the stove. 4:50. I sighed, knowing at that point that school was out for me. Looking back to Castiel, I slowly nodded my head. His face lit up like a kid on Christmas, immediately resuming his unsteady walk down my hallway.

"No funny business. I mean it, Cas," I called after him, following his receding back.

"Sure thing, _Mom_."

I sighed. I knew right then and there that I would probably be getting no sleep that night at all.


	3. Chapter 3

I felt like shit. And I really hated that.

I could feel Deborah, clawing her way in and out of my head. I could see the pitiful glances I'd been getting from Lynn…no, the pitiful looks I'd been getting from_ everyone._ Even Lysander.

I took another drag of my lit cigarette, trying to forget the way he'd looked earlier. He assumed I needed a babysitter, claiming he wanted to see if I'd eaten. I hadn't eaten yet of course, but that didn't mean I needed him watching me like I was fucking mentally unstable. I didn't have an appetite anyway; a ball of guilt had settled itself nicely in my gut, so food was out. He left after a while, the same look on his face; pity. Fuck.

The last thing I wanted was to be given special treatment from anyone. People go through shit like this all the time, and the sooner everyone started treating me the way they usually did (AKA leaving me the fuck alone), the sooner my life could return to normal. I'd give it a few days before trying school again. I needed time to myself to just…be.

The night dragged on, and I had no intentions of sleeping. I looked at the glass case where I kept my booze. _A drink would be fucking amazing right about now…_I opened the door, grabbing the first few bottle closest to me, and an empty glass. A few shots of Jagermeister and a very generous screwdriver later, my head was still a mess. But I was floating blissfully above my problems, enjoying the dancing shadows my ceiling fan caused around the room. I had used up the last of my vodka on the screwdriver though. I pouted internally, knowing I would have to get creative if I wanted anymore. My parents had bought that one months ago, and they weren't expected to return for a couple weeks still. My head lolled back on my couch, but I wasn't tired. I began to lazily trail a hand down my chest, pausing to tweak a nipple before continuing to my lower belly. Jerking off was starting to sound really fucking good.

I closed my eyes, sighing as my hand continued its path down to my crotch, teasing myself by running it over my thighs, avoiding the growing bulge in my pants altogether. As I finally let my hand slide gently over my now throbbing cock, an image flashed in my head, a favourite fantasy that had helped me with this same hobby for a couple of months now. As my fingers slid over the zipper, I imagined an elegant hand in place of mine, its long fingers gently prying the fly open with limitless patience, teasing me. When the zipper was finally released, that same beautiful hand wormed its way inside my pants, just touching the head as it began working on my boxers. I groaned then, excited by the light, dexterous touch of the phantom hand.

My jeans and my boxers were now down around my ass, and I enjoyed the sensation of cool leather upholstery against it. I wiggled, my eyes still closed, the hand now beginning to wrap itself around my length, giving lazy but graceful pumps to my throbbing member. I paused in my ministrations, glazed eyes flicking towards the window of my living room. Not that I minded giving the neighbours a show, but I'd rather not worry about prying eyes tonight. I shivered when I thought of my most recent acquistion, stashed away in my bedroom. I tucked my self back into my pants, a "Herculean task", in the words of Lysander. I shuddered at the thought of him, and impatiently made my way to my room.

It was obvious that I made an effort to support this hobby of mine. A bottle of lotion sat waiting on my night stand, but I passed it, instead opening the top drawer to retrieve what waited inside. A bottle of lube, some condoms, and my most recent purchase; a 5-inch dildo which flared at the bottom into a flat, disk-like shape. I shivered looking at it, remembering the first time I had used it. That night had been electric.

I had always been a passionate person, although my temper had a tendency to rule over my other emotions. I was capable of being a kind, thoughtful, and friendly person, it just happened that most of the people I see in every day life either piss me off, don't matter, or fall somewhere in between these criteria. I let very few people in, probably because I have commitment issues or some other pocket psychology bullshit. I blame my parents, and I blame Deborah.

But I was passionate, diving headfirst into my interests, if my music was any indication. Of course, that passion translated itself physically, and the fervor I had for sex superseded my guitar playing. I was very open to exploration, trying most things at least once, often redoing what I liked most. It was about 6 months ago that I had started anal play with myself. Coincidentally, this was about the same window of time that surrounded meeting Lysander, and I think much of my recent exploration was do to the strange but exciting attraction I had to the tall singer.

I still recall the first day I met him, remember finding the notebook on a bench in the garden during one of my smoke breaks.

It was a Wednesday. He had transferred into Sweet Amoris about a week before, but I had yet to speak to him. I remembered seeing the back of his head in the halls, but beyond that, he was just the tall dude in the frilly clothes. But then I found the elegant notebook alone on a bench, and I was positive I knew who it belonged to without even opening it. However, curiosity had won over my instinct to leave it there. I had opened up to the first page of neat, flowing script. The lyrics and poems I found were interesting. Not my personal taste, I was beginning to prefer more cynicism in my music, but they were promising, and they were well composed. So I plucked it up and began searching the school for the new kid, the book nestled under an arm.

I found him near classroom B, noticeably upset about something. His brow was furrowed, his fingers restlessly tapping at his sides, and as I came up behind him, I heard the agitated grumbling under his breath. I cleared my throat, but he didn't seem to notice me. I coughed loudly, and this time I saw him jump in surprise, his back straightening into his admirable posture.

"Hey, I think this is yours," I said, both amused and annoyed by this person. He turned towards me, and we looked at each other for the first time. His mismatched eyes met my grey ones, and I felt a thrill run from my head to my toes, catching along various points in my spine until my whole body was tingling. I sucked a breath in, hoping he didn't recognize it for the poorly disguised gasp that it was.

He was absolutely beautiful. Framing his eyes were black and white tresses, feathering lightly over his face and down to his shoulder. His eyebrows sat elegantly above his eyes, setting them off even more. The golden amber colour of his right eye gleamed, and gave him the same majestic and regal quality that a lion has. But it was the jade green eye on his left that really held me. It was like looking through the dark green haze of a forest, holding the same mystery and quiet beauty of the wilderness. My eyes took in the rest of his face through peripheral vision only, so transfixed was I by his unusual but striking gaze. I noted the straight elegance of his nose, and took in the full lips of his mouth when he began to speak.

"I beg your pardon?" He said, the low and velvety timbre of his voice sending a new wave of shivers through my body. He quirked one of those eyebrows of his, and I snapped back to reality, realizing that I'd been staring like a moron.

"This notebook; it's yours, isn't it?" I said, holding the mentioned book up to eye level. "I found it in the garden."

He let out a small gasp of pleasure, a sound which I greedily memorized and locked away for future use. "Thank you! I was worried I'd lost it for good this time," he said, reaching to take it into his own hand. I looked at that hand, and like the rest of him, found it beautiful. It was large, but graceful, the fingers tapering like a pianist's. Unexpectedly, an image of that hand wrapped around my dick flashed through my mind, and I froze from the inexplicable heat that coursed through my body in answer.

I cleared my throat, trying to remember how to swallow, before speaking. "Sorry if it was private, I cracked it open to see who it belonged to. I read some of your writing," I said, and I noticed immediately his demeanor shift, almost as if he was preparing himself for ridicule. "I liked it," I added quickly, not liking the kicked-puppy look he had going. A look of surprise crossed his face, but then he smiled, and I felt a strange fluttery sensation in the pit of my stomach.

"Do your write as well?" he asked, his soft voice coloured with excitement.

"No, not really," I said, thinking back to my failed attempts at writing lyrics. Lysander looked a little disappointed at that. "I play the guitar," I explained. "I'm better at coming up with music then the words that go with 'em." Lysander looked at me, but _really_ looked at me, you know? Like he hadn't really seen me until then. I squirmed under his scrutiny, hoping I measured up to whatever scale he was measuring me on.

"Are you in a band?" He asked then. Inwardly, I cringed.

"Was. We sort of…had a falling out," I said, thinking back to Deborah, and how she dumped me and my guitar.

Lysander nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. He seemed to come to some sort of conclusion, though, for he asked me if I'd "be willing to accompany him to a small concert downtown." He had some friends playing at a bar, some small indie shithole I never would have dreamed of going to before. But I looked at Lysander, saw hope in those goddamned beautiful mismatched eyes of his, and agreed to go.

After the concert, which sounded better than I thought it would, Lysander led me to the back room to meet the band. It was amid the small talk and general well-wishery that this tall guy sauntered up to Lysander and casually threw an arm over his broad shoulders. I watched their exchange silently, trying to peg down the relationship between the two.

"So, you with the red-headed guy now? If I had known you were into that, I'd woulda dyed my hair."

I froze, looking at Lysander. I noticed his slight blush, and the way he sort of melded into the tall dude's side, like he'd been there and closer a hundred times before. And then it clicked.

"No no, Bryce, we're just friends from school," Lysander said, waving a graceful hand dismissively. "He plays the guitar."

"It's a shame; he's pretty fucking hot." The tall dude, Bryce, was looking at me, running his eyes over my body with a predatory stare. But then I looked at Lysander, who looked both embarrassed and a little…disappointed? I smirked, hoping to lighten the mood the only way I knew how: my anti-drug, good ol' sarcasm.

"Jesus, Lysander, you could have at least pretended to think it over. Now you've gone an' hurt my feelings." The two laughed, but Lysander still looked at me with unnerving intensity for the rest of the evening.

It was those goddamned eyes of his that did it, I think.

From the moment I got home, desire had raced through my veins with alarming intensity. I managed to make it to the couch before my shaky legs gave way. Beyond the point of caring about windows and nosy neighbours, I reached for the straining button of my pants with clumsy hands. Feverishly, I ripped open my jeans, freeing my erection. I sighed with relief, able to catch my breath for a moment now that the tight and painful confines around my dick had been removed. My reprise was short lived, however, and my straining cock was pulsing hugely in my forgotten hand. I closed my eyes, and began making rhythmic tugs with my heated flesh. An image of an elegant hand flashed in my mind, and I pictured it replacing my own, gently running delicate fingers over my head, following the prominent vein to the base. I groaned loudly, and finished a few seconds later, picturing now a pair of eyes: one gold, the other a brilliant green.

I had used and reused similar images for months now, sometimes imagining those eyes looking up at me from where Lysander was sucking me off, or to his fingers gently running over my ass while he worked me off with the other hand. I couldn't explain the fantasies. Before I met Lysander, I'd only ever felt an attraction to chicks; I was a proud boob man. But there was something about Lysander, he seemed to rub me all the right ways without any of the superficial, provocative-porn star bullshit I'd come to know from the few girls I'd had relationships with. Sometimes all it could take was an accidental brush of his hands on my arm, and it was like electricity was thrumming through my body. It was because of this reaction that I tried to keep physical contact limited; both afraid to reveal how much I liked it, and worried that too much contact would dull my reaction.

My mind returned to the present, where I was beginning to prepare myself. I squeezed a generous amount of lube into my hand, smearing some over my head and down the shaft, giving a few hard tugs as I pictured Lysander in my place. I saved most of the lube on my hand however, and reached behind to my waiting entrance. I groaned quietly, biting my lip as my- _Lysander's_ finger began moving in small circles around my tight hole, prodding curiously ever once in awhile, keeping me on my toes. I leaned my head into my pillow, my ass high in the air as a finger was finally inserted. It pumped in and out a few times before a second was added. I moaned at the widening intrusion, enjoying the almost painful sting as my skin was stretched out. The fingers increased their pace, and by the time the third finger was added, I was ready for the dildo. With impatient hands, I ripped open a condom wrapper, and pinching the reservoir tip out of habit, rolled it down the shaft to the base. I squirted more lube into my hand, and eyes closing yet again, pretended that it was Lysander's own cock I was now running my slippery hand over. _Although_ _he's probably bigger than this._ I shivered at that thought, knowing I had larger options still to try. But I had wanted to start out small, and work my way to bigger things so I wouldn't hurt myself. Last thing I needed was an ass injury bogging me down at school.

The dildo now thoroughly coated with lube, I held it vertically on my mattress, a small phallic skyscraper in the middle of my bed. Then with shaking legs, I maneuvered myself over top of it, pausing when I felt the tip of it prodding at my eager entrance. Securing the base against the bed with one hand, I took my neglected dick in my other hand, pumping it a few times before I began my slow descent onto the dildo. I groaned out as I felt it filling me, unyielding and alien inside. When I felt the base of it resting against my ass, I paused, letting my body stretch out to accommodate it. I pumped my hand again while I waited, keeping my excitement high. When I felt I was ready, I lifted myself slowly, before dropping down again. Immediately I was rewarded with a thrilling sensation as it rocketed up inside me, and I began a slow pace that built steadily. I closed my eyes, my attention now fully on keeping my rhythm, and on the image I formed in my head of Lysander beneath me, eyes dark and heavy lidded as I rode him. I imagined his small choking cries, remembering the small sound of pleasure he had made months before when I returned his notebook. I shifted slightly, and the dildo rubbed against my prostate on my next slide down. I bit my tongue, nearly screaming at the overwhelming sensation. I immediately lifted myself again, pausing momentarily to enjoy the expression I had conjured up for Lysander; heated, desperate. Begging me to continue. I slammed down immediately, brushing the same spot again and again.

"Aaaugh, fuuuuuck!" I came violently, picturing over and over again Lysander's face as he came with me, beautiful eyes rolling up into his head as the spasms overtook him.

I stood up slowly, my heart still pounding in my ears as I carefully removed the condom and threw it in the garbage. I put my things away, knowing I'd most likely be using them again tomorrow. I lay in bed, lazily throwing an arm over my eyes, and drifted to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day was hellish. I took Demon on his walk late in the afternoon when I knew people would be in school. The last thing I needed was some accidental run in with a classmate, especially when I looked like hell. I hadn't showered in a couple of days now, and I was starting to feel it. My hair was slicking to my forehead, greasy clumps of it forming close to my scalp. Dark bags were beginning to appear under my eyes from my few hours of sleep, and of course I had a slight hangover from the night before, exasperated by my poor eating habits. But I didn't care, waking up this morning without the warming glow of obliviousness alcohol had granted me the night before brought back all my problems tenfold. My head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, hindering my thought process, and I found myself in a frustrating fuzzy bubble, the same memories running over and over again in my head.

Deborah's snarky voice going over the intercom kept repeating itself on a loop. I gritted my teeth, remembering how cold and un-Deborah she had sounded. The worst part was that _that_ voice fit her better than the bubbly, girly-girl voice she used around me. I snorted, angry with myself for never seeing that side of her sooner. Angry that it took irritating, nosy Lynn to finally see it. I sighed, thinking of Lynn. I liked her well enough, although her habit of injecting herself into my personal life really got on my nerves. I liked my solitude, and I liked my privacy. That was part of the reason Lysander and I got along so well; are brains were wired the same way.

I shifted Demon's leash to my left hand, freeing my right so I could dig around in my pocket for my cigarettes. I opened the pack, and saw that I only had a couple left. I cursed under my breath, stashing it back into my pocket for later. I'd need to stretch these out.

Being legally independent had its charms. I liked not having to ask for permission to do anything, or worry about parents looking over my shoulder for every choice I made. Being independent _and_ underage however…I'd be eighteen in a couple of months, but until then, I still relied on my contacts. I had a couple of people I could call to pick up the stuff I needed ID for. Tommy, he was my go to for cigarettes and the occasional bag of weed. But he was away visiting family, and wouldn't be back until later tomorrow. I'd send him a text today anyway, hopefully he could drop a couple of packs off on his way through. Hell, maybe I'd even ask him to roll me a couple of joints while he was at it.

Demon and I were rounding the corner to my house, when I noticed a flashy car idling outside my driveway. I paused, irritated by whoever was inside. I didn't like people snooping around where they weren't wanted, and this invasion of privacy, however small it might be in retrospect, was ticking me off. There were plenty of other places to park or pull over on my street, why did it have to be _my _house? I froze mid-step when the passenger door opened, and recognized the occupant with sinking realization.

It was Deborah. She was holding onto a cardboard tray where two paper cups sat, and I could see the steam rising from them. The delicious smell of coffee drifted towards me, and my mouth watered. She knew my vices well.

"Oh, Kitten! There you are!" Her heels were clacking towards me, and they snapped me out of my surprised stupor.

"Don't call me that," I ground out, heading turning towards my front door. I could still hear her clacking up behind me, and I found I was really getting irritated at the sound.

"Wait! I wanted to talk to you," her usually girly voice, her _masked_ voice I thought, was calling after me, undeterred by my angry response. I had a hand on the door knob when she finally caught up to me, a hand grabbing my forearm firmly.

I swung around, acidic bile rising in my throat at her touch. My insides were swimming with rage, and guilt. I found that I still had feelings for her in that touch, as despised as they were. And I hated myself for ever feeling anything for her.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" I yelled, and Demon growled menacingly at my side. Deborah looked shocked for a moment, her eyes widening at my outburst. I hope I scared her, maybe she'd forget about whatever stupid thing she wanted to talk to me about, pack up in her shiny fucking car, and get out of my life. For good.

But her surprise vanished from her face in seconds, her cool, seductive mask up in its place. She smiled at me, fake red lips peeling back over her too-white teeth. _How did I ever not see it before?_ Wordlessly, she handed one of the cups over to me. "A peace offering," she said sweetly, her own cup in hand. I glowered at her, but took a sip from the cup she had given me anyway. It tasted far too good, and I found myself chugging back several large swallows, the roof of my mouth burning pleasantly, before I lowered it again. She smiled, leaning against the railing of my porch, taking a small sip from her own coffee before continuing

"I wanted to talk to you about something…personal. Is it alright if I come in?" She batted her black lined eyes at me, something I once would have found alluring. Now it just made me sick to my stomach.

I sighed heavily through my nose, trying hard to quell the shaking rage building within me. The last thing I needed was an assault charge on my record. Lord knows this girl would have any judge wrapped around her little finger. I took a few more swallows from my cup, enjoying the warmth as it settled in my stomach. But she was watching me, a coy smile playing on her lips.

"What do you want?" I snapped, glaring at her. She puckered her lips, tilting her head to the side in playful but obviously calculated pose.

"I'm only going to be in town for a few more days," she said, coating her words with sugar. I shuddered, already getting the idea of where this conversation was headed. "I'd hate to leave you on such a sour note. I was hoping maybe we could…have some fun before we parted ways."

I felt sick to my stomach. She wanted _sex?!_ I barked out a laugh, but the sound came out harsh and edgy. I turned back to my door, digging the key out of my pocket to unlock it.

"No. Fucking. Way." I said, swinging my door open, escape opening up before me. But she followed me in anyway, her cheap perfume swirling up my nose. I found it repulsive, and I gagged slightly at its cloying smell. I backed away, trying to put some distance between myself and her.

"Oh, really? It's too bad you feel that way…" she was walking past me, invading my refuge, her hips swinging in an exaggerated way that I once found appealing. I hated myself for ever falling for this act. She paused, looking back over her shoulder at me, seduction written on every feature. "I got them pierced, you know."

I froze. _Damn her._

In our brief but passionate relationship, she and I had explored our sexuality freely. I knew all her little kinks, how she liked to be bound up or shoved against a wall. How she liked being dominated, restrained, taken roughly. I of course had always been more than willing to indulge her, being a natural dominating partner myself. But she knew about my kinks, too. She knew my thing for body piercing, specifically nipples. And now here she was, taunting me with one of my biggest turn ons. And I hated myself more, because she was starting to weaken my defenses. I was actually starting to consider taking her up on her offer. I was pathetic.

She took my silence as a victory on her part, because she brushed past me, a hand grazing my shoulder, to shut my open door. I heard the lock click, and I felt my pulse quicken.

"Before we begin," she said, her hands going to the zipper of her tight corset styled top. Its sound was amplified in my quiet house, and I was beginning to feel heat coiling in my gut. Not a good sign."I want to lay some rules down. This isn't about anything but sex, understand? I don't want to have a conversation about feelings or where this leaves us afterwards, alright?" She was topless now, a small strapless bra revealing her ample cleavage, but hiding her enough to draw me in further. I could make out tiny indents where her nipples would be, and I swallowed thickly, trying to imagine what was hidden there. _She actually got them pierced._

I could feel myself getting hard now, almost against my will. My mind was racing, trying to figure out how I had let myself get into this situation. More importantly, why I still wasn't leaving it, why I was_ still _letting her stay in my house. But my body was reacting to her, and it was taking over control of my thinking process. My mouth was dry as she started peeling away her tight, faux leather pants, a racy red thong inching itself into my vision. She sauntered to my couch, straddling the armrest with her long, too-thin legs. Then she moved her arms behind her back, her elbows bowing out like clumsy wings as she began unhooking her bra. I was speechless, only able to watch as that small piece of fabric was also pulled away. And then I saw them. A pair of barbell piercings greeted me, and I knew at that point that escape was no longer possible. She had me. I pushed my self-loathing aside though, stepping closer to her, my desire now in complete control over my body. She smiled at me, a wicked edge to it now that she knew she had won.

"That's right, Kitten. Come here." She held her arms up to me, and I found myself within them, felt her hands snaking into my greasy hair as I bent towards her breasts. She sighed when my tongue crept out to feel the cool metal, but inside I was crying out. I was messed up. Something was desperately wrong with me.

As her hands moved down my shoulders and made their way to my straining fly, I thought of Lysander, and felt guilty. _I'm sorry_. But I was too far gone now. I felt disgusted with myself as I heard the condom wrapper opening, felt her uncaring hands roll it down my incomprehensively hard erection. When she angled her hips and I started to slide up into her, I felt completely detached from my body, like I was watching these two bodies moving together. I felt sick to my stomach the entire time.


End file.
